Spirits, Pies, and Alibis

by Nicole St Claire

  “Dead giveaway.” Sybil groaned. “Terrible joke.”

  My cheeks grew warm. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “And you’re sure it’s Douglas Strong who’s haunting you?” Cass asked.

  “He’s the only one who’s died recently,” I replied. “Who else would it be? The question now is what do I do about it?”

  “I asked Mom and Gran about it,” Cass said, reaching across the table for the book. She opened it and flipped through the yellowed pages. “Do you have anything that belonged to the deceased, like a piece of clothing, maybe?”

  I shook my head. “I never even met the guy.”

  “Really?” Cass frowned. “I wonder why he’s attached himself to you.”

  My facial expression mirrored Cass’s as I pondered this. “I assumed it was because I’m a witch.”

  “Yes, but so are we,” Sybil pointed out. “And we were both standing right next to you at Cliffside the first time it happened, yet neither one of us has caught so much as a glimpse of him.”

  “I…” My lips flopped open and closed like a goldfish, but no words came out. I was stumped. “Isn’t seeing ghosts a normal witchy kind of a thing?”

  Cass and Sybil exchanged uncertain looks.

  “Communicating with ghosts is something that every witch studies.” Sybil said it cautiously, as if she had news that she needed to break gently. “It doesn’t take a lot of training to operate a spirit board halfway decently. But actually seeing an apparition, fully formed the way you did, is much more unusual.”

  A hard lump formed in my throat, matching the one that was settling in the pit of my stomach. If seeing spirits wasn’t something that every witch could do naturally, then why could I? Considering the mess I’d made of every spell Aunt Gwen had tried to teach me, I already knew I lacked a natural aptitude for magic. I was the worst kitchen witch ever, unless… Was it possible I was something else?

  “It’s true,” Cass added. “When I was talking to Gran earlier, she showed me three different summoning spells but told me she’d never had much luck with any of them.”

  “That doesn’t bode well for us,” I said, a sinking feeling inside telling me I would never be rid of my ghost. Whatever variety of witch I was, I doubted I could do better than someone who had been studying and perfecting her magic for longer than I’d been alive.

  “All we can do is try our best,” Sybil said encouragingly. “Here. I brought a copy of a magazine that has an article about Doug in it. Without a personal possession, it’s the next best thing.”

  She set the magazine carefully on the table beside the grimoire, folded back so his full-page photo was prominently displayed. Cass rummaged through the bookshelves and returned with a heavy brass candlestick, which she fitted with a fresh white candle before placing it beside the photo. Meanwhile, Sybil produced a glass vial from her pocket and outlined a circle on the surface of the table with some sort of gritty powder.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked, my voice breathless as I took in the unfamiliar preparations. There was no spirit board in sight, and belatedly, I recalled Cass had used the word “summoning,” as opposed to “communicating.” Goose pimples covered my arms as I tried to work out what the difference between the two might be.

  “We’re going to attempt to bring Douglas Strong into our circle so we can find out how we can help him move on,” Cass said. “Usually when a spirit appears the way he did, it’s because some unfinished business is keeping them on this plane.”

  “The easiest way to rid yourself of a spirit,” Sybil added, “is to help them complete their task.”

  I looked from one to the other in awe. “How do you both know so much?”

  They looked at one another in confusion, and Sybil shrugged. “Probably because we’ve grown up around it from the start. You’ll catch up soon enough.”

  My shoulders slumped with the weight of the work ahead. “But there’s so much to learn. And I have to be honest. The whole seeing-an-apparition thing notwithstanding, so far I’m a terrible witch.”

  Cass cocked her head to one side. “Why do you say that?”

  “The other day, I literally blew up a pie.” I shut my eyes tightly, cringing at the memory.

  “Oh, that’s nothing,” Cass said with a laugh. “You should see some of the potions I’ve concocted. Brown sludge is my specialty. And I’ve put cracks in not one but two crystal balls. Mom was livid.”

  “And I had to spend a week wearing a turban not too long ago,” Sybil said, “because I tried a new spell to make my hair curly and, instead, it all disappeared.”

  A smile tickled the corners of my mouth. “Really? Or are you just saying this to make me feel better?”

  “Cross my heart,” Cass traced an X across her chest as she said it. “Crystal balls are wicked expensive. I’m still working off the cost with extra hours at the tea shop.”

  I chuckled at this and turned my attention to the leather book, which lay open in front of me to display a page of handwritten notes made in old, faded script. Mystical symbols filled the margins. I hate to admit it, but looking at that ancient tome, I experienced a serious case of grimoire envy. The Hollings book looked legit, unlike the tattered and stained cookbook that was the Bassett family legacy. Not that I’d mastered a single thing it contained, or even come close, and I doubted a better grimoire was what I needed. Assurances from my coven aside, I was pretty confident I knew who the weakest link in the witch chain would turn out to be. “So, where do we start?”

  Sybil took another pinch of the white powder she’d used earlier, this time sprinkling it directly on top of Douglas’s smiling face. “We’ll join hands and repeat the incantation, and if it all goes right, this powder should rise up in a mist until we see the departed in physical form.”

  “Or, at least his head,” Cass added.

  Oh, was that all? Simple. I drew a deep breath and clasped hands with the other women, hoping they didn’t notice how sweaty my palms had become. “Let’s give it a shot.”

  At first, the incantation sounded like a string of utter nonsense, but after pronouncing the foreign phrases haltingly a few times, the words flowed freely from my tongue and joined with the other women’s in a steady cadence until it seemed I had lost track of how much time had passed, or of anything at all that stood outside the chalky circle on the table. Though the windows were closed and the heavy drapes were drawn against the midday sun, a warm breeze swept through the room, gliding across the back of my neck and making the stray hairs flutter. The small heap of powder on top of the photograph began to swirl, caught up in a miniature dust devil, but though it twisted and turned for what seemed like a very long time, nothing more distinct formed. Finally, the air grew still and the would-be apparition collapsed into a thin film of dust that coated the top of the table.

  “Should we try again?” I asked in a low voice, though the exhaustion on my companions’ faces was apparent and my own body felt as drained as if I had run a marathon.

  “It’s no use,” Sybil replied, weariness reducing her voice to barely a whisper. “I think that’s the best we can manage.”

  “Maybe if we can get something more personal of the deceased, though, like something he used to wear?” Cass added helpfully. She picked up the magazine, dusted off the powder, and handed it to me. “In the meantime, you might try taking this home and putting it under your pillow. Maybe that will help him communicate through a dream.”

  We parted with promises to reconvene soon and try again, but as I walked down the hard granite steps that led away from the Hollings house, my heart was heavy. Even if I managed to find a piece of clothing or other possession that had belonged to Douglas, I didn’t think it would be enough. I knew deep down what the problem with our spell had been, and it was me. So what if I could see spirits better than other witches? It was no use if I couldn’t do anything about it. I was a weakling, as lacking in supernatural power as anyone who had become an accountant could be expected t
o be. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture myself becoming any different. Aunt Gwen might have been the best kitchen witch in a generation, but there was just no way around it. I was a total dud.

  Before heading home, I stopped by the clinic, as I had promised Noah I would do. The pace of my steps slowed as I approached the front door. I didn’t relish a repeat of the somewhat hostile greeting I’d received from the receptionist on my last visit. Then again, this wasn’t a personal call, so perhaps she would be friendlier to me this time, at least until I annoyed her anew by revealing that I lacked a valid insurance card. Ah, unemployment. The gift that just kept giving.

  As it turned out, I never got the chance to share my uninsured status with her, or much of anything else for that matter. I’d only made it halfway across the lobby when Noah came barreling down the hallway, his white lab coat billowing behind him as he talked loudly into his phone.

  “Calm down, Audrey. I’ll be right there. Just tell him… Audrey…” He held the phone to his ear with one hand while simultaneously shrugging the coat sleeve from his other arm. “Tell Curtis I’m on my way.”

  He tossed the lab coat onto the receptionist’s desk with an apologetic shrug, though from the indulgent look on her face, I gathered she didn’t hold it against him. After leaving the coat, he swiveled mid-step without warning, which landed him directly in my path. I only managed to avoid a complete collision by scampering backward, which when accompanied by the weird squeaking sound that came out of me must have made me look like a startled squirrel. Just one more missed opportunity on my part to display dignity and decorum, but to be honest, I was getting used to feeling like a complete fool in his presence. He had to have noticed it by now, and I wondered if each time it made him question why he’d ever had a crush on me all those years ago.

  “We really must stop running into each other like this,” I said, cringing at the blank stare I received as the lame joke I’d stolen from him fell flat. “I was just stopping by like you asked, but it looks like you’re on your way out.”

  “Unfortunately, I am. There’s been a little family emergency, so I’m on my way to my cousin’s place.”

  “I’ll come back another day,” I assured him, following as he continued toward the door.

  “No, don’t do that,” he said, pushing the door open but then stepping aside to let me pass through first. My heart fluttered at the effortless display of chivalry. He’d been nothing but nice to me since I’d arrived in Summerhaven, but as far as I could tell, Noah was nice to everyone. I reminded myself that I wasn’t special, and whatever feelings he’d had for me were far in the past. “Would you mind taking a ride out to Cliffside?”

  “Tag along for your family emergency?” I scoffed, assuming he wasn’t serious.

  “I know it’s weird, but I could use some backup,” he admitted bashfully. “My cousin can be a handful. Do you think you could come with me?”

  “Sure,” I replied in a steady tone. Truthfully, I was ready to jump at the offer. What better way could there be to find something that had belonged to Douglas Strong to strengthen my summoning spell than to check his house? I decided not to let the fact that I was seriously contemplating stealing from a dead man bother me. It was for his own good after all.

  When we reached Noah’s car in the clinic lot, he walked to the passenger’s side and opened the door. I followed him gladly, taking my seat quickly before he could change his mind. And yes, that was two doors opened for me in under two minutes. The man was positively a knight. It was kind of a shame that grown-up me was such a walking disaster that he’d never give me a second glance.

  When we arrived at Cliffside, Curtis was pacing the massive front room in a rage, screaming into the phone while his mostly unintelligible words ricocheted off the marble walls. Audrey hovered near the front door, nearly pouncing on Noah the moment we entered.

  “Thank God you’re here,” she said, clutching Noah’s arm. “Maybe you can get through to him.”

  “How long has he been like this?” Noah asked.

  “He got a call about an hour ago. The next thing I knew, he was screaming and throwing things around the room.”

  I hung back with Audrey, holding my breath as Noah approached his cousin, anticipating the possibility that Curtis would respond violently. To my relief, he appeared to calm somewhat as Noah spoke to him in a hushed tone.

  Audrey stood beside me, dressed in the stylishly casual clothing that was popular with the island’s summer ladies, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have assumed she was on her way to or from the country club. She appeared older than she had the night of the party, distress contorting her facial features and deepening the lines around her eyes and mouth. Her hands were clenched together so tightly her knuckles had turned pale white.

  “You have no idea what started it?” I asked.

  “It had to be related to the accident. That’s the only thing that would make him behave like this.” The concern for her son was evident, and sympathy for her flooded me, even as I somewhat unexpectedly experienced a sharp stab of loss for my own mother, a pain which was usually little more than a dull ache now that fifteen years had passed. “Doug was like a father to him, ever since my husband died.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t believe they’re both gone.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

  By now, Curtis had collapsed onto one of the leather sofas that was grouped around an oriental rug near the massive fireplace. His head was cradled in his hands while Noah stood beside him resting a supporting hand on his cousin’s shoulder. Noah glanced over and motioned for us to come closer.

  “Uncle Doug’s bloodwork came in this morning,” he explained in a low voice after stepping several feet away from Curtis. “It showed a significant concentration of zolpidem tartrate.”

  Audrey’s hand flew to cover her mouth as she inhaled sharply, but I just stared blankly at Noah. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s a sleeping pill,” he replied. “It appears my uncle had taken about twice the usual dose, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes before takeoff.”

  “So, he died from an overdose?” I asked.

  “Two pills aren’t enough to kill someone, but it’s fast acting. Taken that close to flying, he would have been seriously impaired or even unconscious by the time he was halfway across the bay and lost control of the plane.”

  Beside me, Audrey’s face had gone pale and unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “Oh God.”

  “I know. It’s terrible.” Noah put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close for a hug. “I don’t know what he was thinking, taking those pills in the middle of the day.”

  Audrey pulled away from Noah’s embrace, her lower lip trembling as she looked at her son. She had every appearance of being about to speak but instead turned and walked quickly toward the grand staircase. When she was about halfway up the stairs, she let out a loud sob, and my own eyes stung in empathy.

  “He wasn’t trying to kill himself,” Curtis growled from the couch. Where his mother’s grief had taken the form of crying, Curtis appeared to be channeling his into rage.

  “I’m sure no one would think that,” I said awkwardly, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything better to say. I felt every bit the outsider I was and regretted accepting Noah’s invitation.

  “That’s exactly what they’re saying,” Curtis snapped, his eyes narrowing as he glared at his cousin. “Tell her, Noah.”

  “At this point,” Noah said, addressing Curtis with a tone that was both firm and soothing, “the medical examiner has declined to determine the cause of death…”

  “Yeah, well that hasn’t stopped Penobscot Life from delaying the check. Again.” Curtis’s reply was as bitter as it was passionate, but it struck me as I took in his words that this wasn’t grief for his uncle. This was about money, pure and simple, and the well of sympathy I’d felt toward him quickly ran dry.

  “I
need to use the restroom,” I announced, wanting at that moment to put as much distance as I could between myself and Noah’s loathsome cousin. Besides, I’d come to Cliffside with the intent of finding one of Doug’s personal belongings to strengthen the summoning spell, and I couldn’t exactly swipe something with both his nephews watching.

  “Down the hall,” Noah said.

  I walked briskly in the direction he had pointed, my eyes gliding from side to side to check out each open door as I passed. I doubted I would find anything useful in a main floor guest bathroom, but it was the first excuse that had popped into my head, and it afforded me the opportunity to scope out the first floor for something suitably personal but small enough to slip into my handbag undetected. To my great delight, the door directly across from the bathroom appeared to lead to Douglas Strong’s home office. I took a step toward it, but a sound on the other end of the hall stopped me short, and I popped into the guest bath to avoid being caught somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be.

  For a room whose main purpose was to hold a toilet and sink, the space was opulent to the extreme. The walls sparkled with what I suspected was not just paint but actual gold leaf. The white enamel sink sat in a heavily carved mahogany cabinet with intricate gold fixtures. I drew closer to examine the workmanship, but my attention was caught by a tooled leather container, oval in shape, that stood to the right side of the sink. I thought it might be a box that held something important, but a more thorough inspection revealed it to be nothing more than a waste basket. It had been emptied recently, but there were a few crumpled tissues in the bottom, along with a plastic bottle that was the distinctive amber shade of a pharmacy bottle. The label had mostly been torn away, but a strip of it remained.

  Curious, I reached in and plucked it out, using a few sheets of toilet paper to shield it from my fingerprints, just in case it turned out to be important. My pulse ticked faster as I read the label, and I was thankful for my foresight. In the twinkling light of the bathroom’s crystal sconces, I could just make out the words “zolpi” and “rate” along with the last name “Strong” and a partial address for what I assumed was a pharmacy on the mainland. I struggled to remember the name of the drug Noah had mentioned from the bloodwork, but I was willing to bet money this was it. I wasn’t sure exactly where it would lead, but this had to be a clue.